


a proper handsome c**t

by thebetterbina



Series: the gentlemen [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - The Gentlemen Fusion, Harry Potter is a Little Shit, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Inspired by a Movie, M/M, Marijuana, Possessive Tom Riddle, Recreational Drug Use, Sane Tom Riddle, c bomb dropping, please go watch the gentlemen, rated m for all the cussing, the twins are little shits, this entire movie is about cannabis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:41:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23496220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebetterbina/pseuds/thebetterbina
Summary: It’s eerie by far how they say this next line, together, unison, entirely in sync with mimicked glowers on their faces. “―play a fucking game with us, Harry.”The tension in the room is thick, palpable enough to choke on with those words. The twins know better than to threaten Harry, and whatever they have must be worth it if they can come dick-swinging into his own goddamn house. The teapot behind him whistles, he sighs, knowing full well he’s going to regret relenting to their whims, “Right.”“Lovely!”A self-indulgent The Gentlemen AU. Featuring Tom as the Local Rich Drug Lord, Harry as his exhausted secretary wife, and the Weasley twins as sleazy private investigators.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Fred Weasley/George Weasley, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Series: the gentlemen [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1690606
Comments: 9
Kudos: 73





	a proper handsome c**t

**Author's Note:**

> beta done by my wife, [liz ♡](https://twitter.com/lizardayo)
> 
> *tap dances* my new favourite series im gonna be working on! fair warning this particular fic will be dialogue heavy and parallel to the movie but the other fics will be in my normal format kekekekekeke

Ice clinking on glass is a familiar sound to Harry.

On any other day, he relishes in it, with a glass of whiskey in hand he can enjoy by himself. Preferably when the thunder rolls, and rain patters on the glass windows of his home, when he knows his boss won’t bother him for the next six hours at minimum. It’s a quiet time for him, and Harry  _ likes _ his quiet time.

What he doesn’t like is hearing the sound from intruders.

His teeth grit, turning to face the far too cheery faces of the twins seated in the dark, each with their own glass in hand. Harry doesn’t even want to know what bottle they decided to break open, the annoying cunts. He sets the kettle over the stove a tad harder than he has to, but it should get his ire across.

“Buenas tardes―” Fred begins, because it’s always Fred who begins their dialogues and he’s known the two long enough to be acquainted with their routine.

“―Enrique.” George finishing, giving a cheeky wink.

“I should stab the both of you with a fucking rolling pin.”

It’s a serious consideration, one the twins evidently don't take seriously enough when Fred has the audacity to chuckle good-humouredly. “Oh Harry, don’t be cunty, we were just hoping we could have a cosy little drink together, isn’t that right George?”

George nods, all seriousness, taking another sip of whatever precious liquor Harry had sequestered away. Harry is seriously contemplating just taking whatever he has nearby him and chucking it at one of their faces. “Considering we have a meeting on Saturday at your favourite newspaper and as the best private investigators around here―”

“―mind, they are ready to put a hundred and fifty grand in our pockets to give them some filth―”

“―which is  _ good _ for us, but in this case―”

“―it’s  _ bad _ for you.” Fred finishes, slowly coming into the light. 

Really, if Harry didn’t know any better he’d think the twins sincere in how sorry they looked. He strips off his outer coat, and waves an idle hand for them to continue, he’s listening regardless. It has to be serious enough to warrant them breaking into his home.

“So Cornelius Fudge, editor extraordinaire, has developed a terrible―”

“―and we mean,  _ terrible _ ―”

“―antipathy for your boss, and his liquorish assortment of tasty mates.”

Harry scoffs, that’s no surprise to him, he has a running counter of the shitstorms Tom’s brewed for him to handle. Each with a new face, a new grudge against whatever little thing Tom had apparently done to scorn them. An angry editor is the last of his worries.

“He’s out to destroy him and all those that cosy up to him.”

“There will be blood-and-fuckin’-feathers  _ everywhere _ , darling.”

Harry returns with a huff, “Well get to it, I’m starting to itch.” 

“Now―” And this is where the twins start to show their twitchy sides, one glancing at the other as if deciding on the spot who delivers the finishing line.

“―we all know your boss has very, very deep pockets.”

“And we’d like to invite him just to have a … teeny rummage in them.” George finishes, at least with half a decency to look sheepish just as Harry narrows his eyes in suspicion.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

George gives an awkward cough, Fred continues, “If you would be so kind as to furnish us with twenty million British pounds, we will give you everything―”

“―memory cards, contact sheets, recordings, the lot and―” George pulls out what looks like a bound manuscript and pushes it just in range for Harry to read the front cover. “―a modest little screenplay we wrote ourselves.”

“Hold on―” Harry reaches for a teacup, the smallest mercy he can offer himself in these trying times and turns to face the twins. “―we just went from a hundred and fifty thousand pounds to twenty million.” He raises a single, unimpressed brow at the duo who fret a little. “That’s a steep rise in thirty seconds.”

“Yeah, but we would argue that you’re lucky―” 

“―because that is nothing compared to what we could―

“―and perhaps should―”

“―be asking.”

Harry laughs derisively, “Oh, well thank God the Weasley twins I know aren’t  _ greedy _ , you deluded shit-eating cunts.”

Fred actually giggles, getting a sharp glare from Harry, “I quite like it when you talk dirty.”

“I agree, I can feel myself … engorging.” The lecherous wink Harry gets from George he responds with a roll of eyes. “Come on Harry, have a drink with us. It’s really yummy.”

“We looked it up, hundred and fifty quid! We didn’t know you could spend that much on a bottle of scotch.” 

Harry’s patience is decidedly running thin, and any second now he’s going to get the urge to shoot one of them. Preferably both at the same time. He leans back on the counter of his kitchen island, watching as Fred helps himself to another glass.

“We’re gonna tell you a story to demonstrate why our quote is, well, our quote.”

“So will you play a game with us, Harry?” George actually looks hopeful when he asks.

“I don’t want to play a game.”

“Please?” 

“No.”

George, and Harry isn’t sure if it’s recklessness or stupidity, actually frowns as he says, “I said―” 

It’s eerie by far how they say this next line, together, unison, entirely in sync with mimicked glowers on their faces. “―play a fucking game with us, Harry.”

The tension in the room is thick, palpable enough to choke on with those words. The twins know better than to threaten Harry, and whatever they have must be worth it if they can come dick-swinging into his own goddamn house. The teapot behind him whistles, he sighs, knowing full well he’s going to regret relenting to their whims, “Right.”

“Lovely!”

“Now―” Fred has to herd him to the dining room just as he gets the water poured into the cup, getting into his space and gently guiding Harry by the small of his back, flicking on a light as he goes and Harry scowls at the open bottle of scotch on the table but pulls a chair and takes a seat. “―we want you to imagine a character, a dramatic character, like in a book or a play or a film.”

“Not digital, not on a memory stick―”

“Analogue. Chemical process. Old-school, thirty-five mill.”

“We’re seeing this through a lens, not talking about the small screen. It’s not TV, Harry. Old-school cinema format. Anamorphic, or ratio two three five to one.”

The twins are dramatic as they are dynamic, telling their story with a flair that keeps Harry interested, despite being annoyed at their presence all the same. 

“We want you to join us on this cinematic journey, cause’ it is cinema, Harry.”

“Beautiful cinema.”

“Beautiful,  _ beautiful _ cinema. Now, roll camera, enter our protagonist―” 

“He’s good-looking, he’s gorgeous, he’s golden age, he’s a proper handsome cunt. His name is―”

Harry can feel their riding excitement, like little children telling a riveting story as they do their  _ twin thing _ and parrot together. “―Tom Riddle.”

Fred holds a finger up, “Unique background has our Tommy. American born, Rhodes scholar, so he’s clever but poor.”

“Now, that’s quite a leap from a trailer park in Americana to the thousand-year-old university in old Angleterre―”

“―where he studies the dark art―

“―of horticulture!”

“But he never finished his education, never went home, because―

“―he found his vocation.”

“A  _ naughty _ vocation. He’s a bad boy, this Tommy. He starts dealing the dirty wonder weed to his rich, British, upper-class uni pals―”

  
“―and realizes he’s rather good at it.”

Despite the pomp, it doesn’t stop Harry from smiling into a sip of his tea, it’s not an old story by any means, most people were already well acquainted with the rise of Tom’s name. He has no idea why the twins are insisting on telling the story like a script but he’ll humour them, even if it is getting irritating having to keep track of where the two are all the time.

“He’s clear and objective about ambition and he can surf the echelons of our complicated culture. He knew how to take advantage of his advantage.”

“He was a hungry animal, you see. He was powerful and ruthless, cunning and quick, charismatic and smart, but―”

“―he had to do some naughty things, to get where he got, to establish his position, to show he wasn’t all just teeth, tits and tan.”

“Well, he wasn’t fucking hollow, was he?” Fred chuckles, “He had an engine under his hood and a gun in his holster.”

And isn’t that right? Harry was there to watch Tom rise, he has the memory of Tom threatening his first drug cartel lord fresh in his mind, wiping away his fingerprints and blood from the weapon, hands idly shoved deep into pockets despite still being flecked with blood. In his first few years, Tom spoke with fists, knives and anything he could get his hands on.

“So, he’s not exactly clean, our Tom. He has come up the hard way. He’s earned his position shall we say.”

“That was the early days, and he cracked on with his New World pioneer spirit. What’s he worth today? Hundred, two hundred, five hundred million? But now, the plot begins to thicken.”

“He has reached a crossroads in his life. The middle class, and the middle age, they’ve got to him. They’ve corrupted his appetite for the horrors. He’s gone …  _ soft _ .” George grimaces a little as he says the last word.

  
“He wants to cash in his chips and get out of the game, and he seems to have found the perfect customer. Smash cut, please―”    
  
“―to interior, a gala dinner.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm active [on my Twitter](https://twitter.com/therealconnor60)! (´,,•ω•,,)♡
> 
> i also have a [discord server here](https://discord.gg/yE8KQnt) so feel free to join and gimme a screm *wink wonk*


End file.
